I fear the languages in my head…

"Death and demons haunted the anguished works that made Ingmar Bergman a film-making legend."

"Bergman passed away Monday at age 89, at home on the Swedish islet of Faro…"

‘In 1988, Woody Allen said in a 70th birthday tribute to Bergman that he
was "probably the greatest film artist, all things considered, since
the invention of the motion picture camera.""

— IHT

"Yet I know that what I tell myself is self-deception and an
incessant anxiety calls out to me: What have you done that will endure?
Is there a single metre in any one of your films that will mean
something for the future, one single line, one single situation that is
completely and absolutely real?

And with the sincere person’s deep-rooted inclination to lie I must answer; I do not know, but I think so."

—

"I never need to concern myself about present opinion or the judgment
of the posterity. I am a name which has not been recorded anywhere and
which will disappear when I myself disappear; but a little part of me
will live on in the triumphant masterwork of the anonymous craftsmen. A
dragon, a devil, or perhaps a saint, it does not matter which."

—Bergman

Involuntary Lesson

Illusion dissipates.                     
    This is not home.                        

    Defending predefined fate.               
    Questions not asked.                     
    Sharing isolation openly.                
    Worshipping convention, rightious dogma. 
    Hoarding finite love.                     
    Relegated as mere commodity.             
    This is not home.                        

    Freedom left the building.               
    Deep pain rages.                         
    Beyond explanation, barely tolerated.    
    The deeper pain is feeling               
    not what has been lost,                  
    but what will be lost never again.       
    Nobody will know.                        

    Confinement cost; dearest expense.       
    A tax for living here and now.            
    This is not home.                        

    Words disallowed; phalanstery crumbles.   
    A future unlike any                      
    it seemed it would become.               
    There will be no choice.                  

    Respect each entity, the greater good.   
    Endless selfless sting, this mortal coil.

    It was supposed to be safe. It wasn’t.   
    When a cry occurs in this empty universe,
    will it be heard?                        

    ne wetou nembor